Amnesia
by The Feisty Rogue
Summary: As he struggled upright, squinting through blurry eyes, he realised two things. He was completely naked. And he had no idea who he was.
1. Chapter 1

**Days Since Incident: 0**

The man woke up on the beach to the glaring midday sun. He scrunched his eyes shut. Every bone in his body ached, and he was weary enough that he could fall back to sleep again, perhaps forever. He wondered what had woken him.

A squawk and a peck enlightened him and he hissed as he rolled away. A wave of anger flooded through him, gave him the energy to move, to flail violently. He pushed it down as it threaten to overwhelm him. The bird took off in flight, startled that its meal was in fact alive and kicking. As he struggled upright, squinting through blurry eyes, he realised two things.

He was completely naked.

And he had no idea who he was.

Interesting.

He chose to find it interesting, rather than to panic, and the pragmatic nature of his approach intrigued him. Surely the usual reaction to this situation wasn't so calm. He decided not to dwell on that, rather mustered a sense of peacefulness to quell the itching worry beneath his skin.

Don't panic.

He couldn't allow himself to panic; therefore he did not.

Most peculiar. He looked around, eyes fully adjusted to the sunlight and found himself in a picturesque setting. Blue ocean stretched out before him, meeting the sky at a distant, shimmering horizon. The sun was high in the sigh and felt scorching on his skin.

He kept his breathing steady and wondered why he was doing it. His hand fluttered to his wrist and he realised he could count his heart beats by measuring his pulse briefly. Who was he? A doctor maybe?

"Not that kind of doctor," he growled, before twitching in surprise. A sore point. What kind of doctor then? Scientific terminology fluttered round his thoughts and overwhelmed him with their self-importance. He calmed his mind.

Stay calm.

There was a consuming need to be calm. It flooded his brain, his senses, more important than food, than water, than anything else.

Food. Now he thought about it he was hungry. He wanted food. No, needed food. He had a feeling it was an urge he couldn't resist for long. He felt like he'd just run a marathon, or two. He debated just lying back, falling to sleep and never waking up. He trembled as his primal instincts screamed at him to find food. It felt like another creature in his mind, fighting to be let out.

Breathe.

His skin felt tight and unnatural and he thought he could feel the start of a migraine behind his eyes. Clothes. Then food. Then he would examine his deteriorating mental state.

He staggered to his feet and walked with his back to the sea. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other. He picked at berries and plants and bugs that he knew were edible. He didn't question how he knew this. One question would open up a whole host of others and he wasn't ready for a break down in the middle of what seemed like nowhere. He literally stumbled onto civilisation before he noticed it. As he stared down at the sprinkler system that had tripped him up he searched for the holiday home that was sure to be the source of it.

There it was. Shelter from the blistering heat. He stayed warily back, hiding in shrubbery, and eyed the house for signs of occupancy. He held himself back for as long as he could bear and then dragged himself the remaining steps to the door. He knocked. No-one was home, he was quite sure. He circled the house, checking the windows and doors. No car at the drive, but that didn't mean much. He smashed a window and opened the door from the inside, pausing just long enough to check that the sound hadn't sent anybody running. He avoided the glass as best he could, but cut his foot on a piece he'd missed. The anger roared up as he hissed at the pain, and he shoved it away, pulling the sliver from his skin and tossing it in the bin. He raided the kitchen and found stale biscuits and tinned fruit. It would do. He found a pair of shorts and an oversized sweater that covered him well enough, and collapsed onto the sofa. He devoured the food he found, and then went searching for more, consuming more packaged food than should have been possible. Judging by the layer of dust coating the furniture in this place it hadn't been used for a while. He could afford a day here before getting further away.

Away from where? He was avoiding the authorities. He knew that much. He was a fugitive. That didn't bode well for his history. Was he a criminal? He dozed lightly, recuperating strength with one eye open ready to flee at the slightest sign of trouble.

When he roused himself it was dark outside. He found some rice, cooked and consumed questionable amounts then explored the house. There was a map of Nadi in the front room and he took it, assuming that it pertained to his location. Fiji. Could have been worse. He found a discarded pair of sandals that fitted well enough. He sat on the floor, his back aching, and inspected the cut on his foot. It was gone, with only dried blood as proof there had ever been one in the first place. He stared at it.

Right.

His hands trembled as he considered them and forced himself to remain calm. He considered what he knew. He had washed up on a beach. A survivor of a ship wreck perhaps? He had amnesia. He had psychogenic amnesia with dissociative fugue. He was a scientist, he could tell that much, but knowledge came to him in random bursts, nothing concrete.

Random flashes of memory creeped back: as a kid, hiding, curled up in a cupboard with footsteps drawing closer, as an adult, still hiding in a country with red sand that whipped around in the air and stung his eyes. He ran his hands through his hair and considered his options. The police seemed out the question. Although common sense told him he should trust them, he had an innate wariness that made him reluctant. Would he be able to find someone that knew who he was? He debated going to hospital, but dismissed the idea almost immediately. He hated hospitals. Or at least, whoever he used to be did. He decided to focus on the basics. He needed food, and therefore money, and he couldn't stay in the holiday home indefinitely. But right now, he needed a name.

Robert sprung to mind. He took it, and made it his own. He wondered if it had been his name before.

It didn't matter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Days Since Incident: 39**

Robert had negotiated with Miriam for food, a room over his head, and a measly salary in return working the long hours a bar required, and minding her son when she worked her day job in a cafe. He'd looked for one of the grittier bars that was aimed at locals, not wanting to draw attention to his lacked of identification, or really, anything about him. She'd been a diamond in a pigsty, perfectly suited to his needs. He had found when she'd spoken to him in Fijan that he been able to reply in broken sentences of Hindi. She'd laughed and replied in English, which he was grateful for, and taken him under her wing immediately, endeared by his attempt to speak her language. His former self had evidently been a man of many talents.

He'd discovered that he was adept at teaching, and had a thorough grasp of the sciences, and was passable in many languages. In his spare time, which was admittedly sparse, he read books, spanning from classics which had a familiar feel to them, to new titles in science fiction which made a mockery of the laws of physics. He loved to poke holes in the logic of each book he found, and loved it even more when he couldn't find any.

The first few days he'd found himself in a library, trawling missing persons lists, searching for a names he recognised. It had been futile. Either no one had cared enough about him that they were searching for him, or he didn't recognise his own name. Both options made his skin crawl.

The creak of the door to the bar opened and someone stopped into it. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"Bula, Eric."

The man in question cursed. "Hey Rob. How dya always guess it's me?"

Robert finally looked up and moved to the bar, hands working on automatic, pouring the usual pint. He smiled and said nothing. Eric didn't know he was as predictable as clockwork, always in at 8.14pm after his shift as a chef in one of the chain hotels Robert avoided with a passion. He usually had some sort of dessert, leftovers that the kitchen allowed him to take home once all the guests had eaten, and today was no different.

"What you got for us tonight?" he said, nodding at the container.

"Apple pie. One of my own, so the best you'll ever eat," Eric said with a cheeky grin, and traded it for the drink.

"My favourite," Robert said absently, then caught himself. He inspected the idea. Apple pie was his favourite. He'd lately discovered he loathed peas when he'd chocked on a mouthful that Miriam had served up to him. She'd eyed him curiously as he explained he'd forgotten he didn't like them, and ate them anyway. Her son, Andre, had declared he didn't like them either, and the incident had been forgotten in the ensuing chaos of persuading a five year old boy to eat something he didn't want to.

He'd noticed she hadn't served them since.

"Help yourself then," said Eric, taking a long chug of beer. Rob did, and was delighted with the pie. His favourite indeed.

"You been keeping up with what's happening in London?" Eric's eyes were fixed on the small TV in the corner of the room that usually displayed sport, or the news when nothing was on. Robert glanced at him.

"What's happening in London?" he asked. Eric chuckled.

"Some alien race attacking us again. The Skrull or something dumb. Pretty sure the Avengers dealt with it, last I checked they were hunting down the ones that got left behind when the rest of them retreated."

Robert stared at the TV as the anger within him surged and roared at him to be let out. His bones ached and his blood boiled underneath his skin as the compulsion to drop everything and flee battled with the one to remain calm. The glass he was holding cracked and Eric jumped.

Robert took three calming breaths, the perfect number, and factorised 1960 into primes in his head. Two to the power three by five by seven to the power two.

Breathe.

"You alright man?" Eric asked. Robert nodded, not trusting his voice. Where had that come from?

The TV showed footage of Iron Man, amongst others, attacking green creatures who mercilessly wreaked destruction on their surroundings, killing without hesitation. They had swarmed Buckingham Palace, the Queen's Guard barely seeming to hold their own until back-up had arrived. Iron Man swooped in, having somehow obtained a bearskin hat and starting blasting Skrull with beams from his hands. Repulsors, a part of his mind supplied for him. He watched in disbelief as Captain America dropped from a jet on a motorcycle to land in the middle of a group of aliens that had pinned some civilians down, decimating them in seconds. He knew that the Avengers existed, like he knew he had five fingers, but he hadn't thought of them in a quantifiable sense. He turned the sound up.

"That's some of the footage we have from earlier when Earth's Mightiest Heroes dropped in to defend the Queen in all her glory." The news anchor seemed awfully pleased with her pun.

"We've managed to catch Tony Stark, AKA Iron Man and ex-CEO, now Chief Engineer of Stark Industries, for a quick word about the situation." The camera panned to the man in the Iron Man armour, helmet off, swiping a hand through a swath of dark hair.

"Fun's over folks, we've sent them packing."

He knew that man.

"I know that man," he said with a croak. Eric snorted.

"Who doesn't?" Robert opened his mouth to correct him, then swallowed the words instead. He'd sound crazy if he tried to assert that he knew Tony Stark, knew him well enough to know that he didn't want to be talking to a reporter, that he was desperate to collapse on a sofa and order enough pizza to feed half of Brooklyn, and tinker with the armour, to fix it and mend it and improve it. It sounded crazy even to him. He had no idea how that knowledge had come to him, but he knew it was true with every fibre of his being.

"Mr Stark, where has the Hulk been these last few weeks?"

Tony's eyes snapped to the reporter.

"On holiday," he said, without his usual elegance. He swiped a hand over his beard and smirked, regaining his composure. "Are we not good enough for you?" he said, eyebrow raised, and the reporter hastened to reassure him. Robert wasn't listening. He turned the volume back down and stared at his shaking hands.

"You alright there buddy? You're looking a little green around the gills," Eric said. He bit back a laugh. He wasn't alright. He was great. He recognised someone, even if said someone was a self-proclaimed genius billionaire playboy philanthropist. He could work with that. He could find himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Days Since Incident: 186**

Robert threw back the covers on his bed and sat up gasping, fingers instantly on his wrist, measuring his pulse.

Breathe.

He waited until his pulse had settled back to his regular 64bpm before exploring the fragments of the dream that had caused him to wake. Vivid green eyes flashed at him and a wisp of scarlet hair caught his eye as the woman spoke. I adore you. Then a kiss hot and unexpected and terrifying and then the sensation of falling and worse than that, resignation. That was when he had woken, clawing at the bedsheets. He closed his eyes and visualised the dream. He'd felt more alive than he ever remembered, not that he remembered much. He rose from the bed and splashed water on his face.

He hated it. He hated not knowing who the faces that he dreamed about were, with eyes gazing at him so sadly. He hated the feeling of obligation, like there was somewhere he should be, without knowing where, or why. He hated that he didn't even know if Robert was his name, or why he could say 'I can work for food and shelter' in 18 different languages.

Tony Stark was the only concrete evidence that he'd had a life before this one, that he'd even existed. He'd researched everything the media had to say on him, digging into his associates and ex-girlfriends and employees. Had they worked together? He occasionally dreamt of a lab, the two of them together building, but the dreams varied from gritty to fanciful and he didn't pin his hopes on them.

Tony Stark was an enigma. On the surface Tony was abrasive and extravagant. But he knew it wasn't true, couldn't be true. He dug deeper to find details of the kidnapping in Afghanistan, of donations he made to veteran support groups, science scholarship programs that he ran, and the tendency to give expensive cars to baristas. He suspected there was a story in that.

It was time, Robert decided, to go to New York, and see the great Tony Stark himself. Again, he thought, hoped. Hoped he hadn't latched onto the first face he'd recognised in a world of unfamiliar ones.

He gathered his meagre belongings, left a note for Miriam and borrowed her car to drive to the holiday home he'd broken into when he'd first arrived. The window was boarded up. He posted a letter with an apology, and some money, through the door. He returned Miriam's car, and caught a bus to the airport.

He'd saved every penny he could in the last few months, working any odd jobs he could, and he bought a ticket to New York. He had only spent his money on some respectable clothes, and the equipment to make a fake ID. It worried him slightly that he could do that. Time to put his skills to the test.

He passed the initial security checks without incident, and it was only as he was finding his seat on the plane that he found himself panicking.

Breathe.

He repressed the primal instincts screaming at him that planes were bad, he hated planes, nothing good happened on planes and seated himself next to the window. He pressed his fingers to his temple and tried to massage away the headache. A couple sat next to him and he tried to ignore their post honeymoon cooing and not so subtle remarks about all the better things they could be doing in the following 10 hours to LAX, and the following 5 to New York, and would there be enough time in the stop over for a quickie? He smirked and bit his lip to prevent from laughing when the lady travelling with two children in front of them turned around and told them in no uncertain terms what she thought was acceptable talk for public. The couple looked suitably abashed and he gave her a cautious smile.

The take-off was the worst part. He'd read somewhere, in another life, that it was the time the plane was most likely to crash. He derived Lagrange's Four Square Theorem in his head and by the time he was done the plane was at cruising height and the panic was restrained with iron chains. The rest of the flight was a bearable annoyance, and he even dozed for parts of it. When they touched down in LAX he resisted the urge to kiss the ground and stay there forever. He bought a book for the flight to New York, some kind of modern adaption of Frankenstein. He noticed the couple receiving a ticket from a police officer and when they boarded the flight her shirt was inside out. He smirked to himself. The next flight passed in a blur, the only disturbance some turbulence just after take-off that made him want to shed his skin and scream.

After he navigated the maze of the JFK airport and trekked his way to city centre it was mid-morning. He made his way to a little coffee shop he liked the look of, and ordered a green tea and a two-shot americano with hazelnut. The drinks slipped off his tongue and before he could rescind it the girl smiled a brilliant smile and spoke.

"The usual then, sir." She started making the coffee as he stared at her, seeming not to notice his shock. She rambled on about how she hadn't seen him in a while, not really expecting an answer as she chatted. He coughed when she turned back to him, and held out a tenner, whispering thanks. He settled himself in a corner gazing at the coffee. What was he going to do with it?

That was the least of his worries. He sighed, took a sip of his tea and opened the book. He could afford himself half an hour before he tried to figure out how the hell he was going to get to see Tony Stark.

Another customer walked in and ordered the same drinks and he metaphorically pricked his ears up. He listened to the barista explaining that his friend, although it had been a while sir, anyway, his friend had bought the drinks, and was sitting right over there. He looked up to see the man freeze, and spin on his heels.

Well. It hadn't been as hard to find Tony Stark as he had thought.

Tony Stark's eyes went wider than he'd seen anyone's ever do, his mouth hanging open in amazement.

"Bruce," he croaked. Then Tony crossed the space between them in three quick strides, threw his arms around him and hugged him.

"Um." He mentally berated himself. He could do better than 'um'. Tony reached down and took a slurp of his coffee, hissing as he burnt his tongue on the hot liquid. The one Robert - no - Bruce, had ordered for him. Accidentally. He had a standing coffee date with Tony Stark. His name was Bruce. He realised Tony was speaking.

"It's great to see you man. How've you been? Six months Bruce, and not a word, you bastard, you could have at least sent a postcard! Still, that's in the past, so good to see you. Please don't do that again, you scared me, scared us all. Oh my god, Natasha is going to murder you, she's been a mopey little assassin lately."

He stared into Tony's brown, trusting eyes and willed himself to remember. He wanted to remember right now more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.

"Bruce, Bruce, are you listening? Shall we throw a party? No scrap that, you hate parties. Let's get pizza from that cute little Italian-"

He cut Tony off. "My name's Bruce," he said wonderingly, amazed and disappointed all at once. It was a good name. He liked that name. He wished that he remembered.

Breathe.

"Urm, yeah," Tony said with a raised eyebrow. "Doctor Bruce Banner, resident genius, chef extraordinaire and a man with breath-taking anger management skills that have been pretty well managed lately."

"Bruce Banner," he said, echoing Tony. Tony stared at him.

"Yeah, what, did ya forget or something?" He smirked.

Bruce stared at him, fingers on wrist, counting his pulse and took three deep breaths. He sat down in his seat, having been swept up by Tony's previous hug and hid his face in his hands.

"Urm. Bruce?" Tony said, planting himself in the seat opposite him.

Nothing. He'd hoped, prayed that seeing the familiar face in the flesh would trigger more memories, but he came up blank. Time to face the music. He looked up from the table, and ran his hand through his hair.

"I don't remember anything. I woke up one morning on a beach, with no idea who I am." He saw Tony gulp. He was probably just going to be a burden. Coming here had been a terrible idea. At least he had a name. He could work with a name.

"I should go," Bruce said. Tony shot up.

"No! Absolutely not. We're going to the tower, and you're going to tell me everything." Even though he knew he shouldn't stay, he was pathetically grateful.

As they walked to the tower Tony interrogated him and Bruce explained the situation best he could. Tony was texting frantically with each ominous answer, only looking up to give directions. Bruce didn't mind. It gave him time to look about, take in the sights. It was new and familiar at the same time, and it was a curious sensation. They walked straight past the main entrance to Stark Tower and in through a corridor that lead to an elevator.

"Straight to medical. We'll check you out, then you can meet the rest of our team later." Our team? Was he part of the team? He'd researched Doctor Banner, but any concrete facts about him had been elusive. He'd been a scientist at Culver who had disappeared after a terrible accident had occurred, and reappeared several years later to work at Stark Industries.

"Certainly sir, and welcome back Doctor Banner," a female voice rang out. Bruce flinched.

"Oh sorry, that's F.R.I.D.A.Y., resident A.I. She manages the building. If you need anything, just ask her."

Bruce nodded and the elevator moved smoothly up.

"It's strange. I was expecting it, I think, but not that voice."

Tony raised his eyebrows, and he looked vaguely melancholic. "It used to be someone else, but he got… upgraded." Bruce didn't question it. Hopefully there would be plenty of time for questions later. The elevator doors pinged and he was greeted by an ensemble of the Avengers. When he'd done his research on Tony he'd encountered photos and scraps of articles about each of these people. It was completely different seeing them in the flesh. Tony rolled his eyes and herded Bruce towards a lab bench.

"Couldn't resist, could you? No one listens to me. I said 'give him space', but oh no…" Bruce zoned him out as Captain America approached him.

"Hi, my name's Steve Rogers. Tony explained the situation to us. I'm sorry for what's happened to you."

Bruce shook his hand, staring in amazement at the epitome of human perfection.

"Sam Wilson," said the man standing next to him. Bruce shook his hand too.

"Clint's on his way, Wanda and Vision are in Paris, Thor's off world. So that leaves us," Tony was saying. Bruce's eyes wandered to the woman in the back. She had flame red hair swept back into a bun, and piercing green eyes.

"Natasha Romanoff," she said. She made no move to shake his hand. He didn't mind.

"I had a dream about you," he said, and immediately regretted it. She frowned, almost imperceptibly, but no one laughed. He wanted to. "Oh god, that came out wrong, I am so sorry."

She scrutinised him and he rubbed his hands together before catching himself and shoving them in his pockets. She turned and stalked out the door.

Oh no. He was screwing things up already.

"I didn't mean to offend," he said plaintively. Tony shook his head.

"I don't think that was about what you said."

Bruce wanted to know exactly what it was about but before he could ask another man wandered into the room. From the research he'd done he presumed it was Clint last-name-unknown, Hawkeye, but there had been no clear photos of the man.

"Why are you guys all down here? Nat's looking pissed man, who hid her knives today?" Bruce could forgive the man for not noticing him, hidden behind Steve Rogers. Steve shifted slightly and Clint's jaw dropped.

"No fucking way, Banner, you dog, how've you been?" Clint punched him on the arm in a friendly manner but the peculiar and all too familiar roar of anger surged up with in him. He touched his fingers to his wrist in an automatic gesture. It wasn't really necessary, it just calmed him down. Clint's eyes flicked to his wrist and took a step back.

"Hey there big guy, sorry about that, keep it calm."

"For fucks sake Barton. Don't you ever check your phone?" Tony snapped. Bruce stared at him in surprise.

"What did I do?" Clint asked, bewildered. Steve hustled him out the room, Sam hot on his heels. He heard the faint sound of Steve explaining that Bruce had some form of memory loss, and Clint's swearing.

That was strange. There was nothing else for it. That had not gone as he had expected, not that he'd really had any expectations. As Tony bustled around him, completing strange medical checks and babbling about science he stared at his shaking hands and wondered about who sort of man Doctor Bruce Banner was.


	4. Chapter 4

**Days Since Incident: 187**

Bruce stared at the ceiling in his room. It was 2.24am. The Avengers had been lovely to meet (again), for the most part, but Natasha had sat in stony silence when he'd told his side of the story. As he'd listened to their brief summary of his life he couldn't help but feel like there was something missing. Something big. They claimed he'd left after helping them defeat Ultron, had needed a break, but it didn't ring true. Twice he'd caught the lot of them holding whispered arguments that fell into casual conversation the moment he entered the room. Tony had stormed out the second time and Bruce had found him later welding scrap metal together, pretending there was nothing wrong.

Steve had explained that he had a heart condition, and that was why he couldn't allow his pulse to get too high. As he nodded and listened to his explanation he knew Steve was lying. He didn't know how he knew, but he could hear it with every word that was said.

They were keeping something from him. He couldn't think of another reason for their behaviour. He sat up and threw his cover to the side. He wasn't exactly sleeping.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., are there any labs I'm allowed access to?" he asked.

"Certainly, Doctor Banner. You are permitted access to all the laboratories in this building. I could direct you to your own, if you wish."

He had his own laboratory.

Right.

Tony had told him about his lab but he had chosen not to think about it. It implied a terrifying amount of intimacy, not only to have his own room, but his own lab. He instructed the A.I. to take him there.

Once inside he gazed around as lights and screens flickered on, holographs swirling, simulations running. He disregarded it all as his eyes fell on a laptop. His laptop, he was sure. He booted it up and searched for heart conditions that required him to have a low heart rate and blood pressure. The list was endless; cardiomyopathy, arrhythmias, congenital heart disease to list a few. Useless. He searched himself instead, paying more detail now he knew this was who he had been.

He skimmed newspaper articles about Dr Bruce Banner, brushing over research journals he had written. There wasn't much about him, only one photo from high school that he hadn't even seen when he'd first googled himself. He paused when he came upon a picture of a beautiful woman named Betty Ross, whom the article claimed had been his research partner in the latest project before he dropped off the grid for years. There had been an explosion in a lab and she'd been injured, and he'd disappeared. One paper claimed there had been a military presence, another claimed they'd been performing illegal animal experimentation which the government had covered up. He dug deeper, and found one online article that claimed he'd been chased by General Ross, Betty's father. He followed what he could of General Ross's military career. He was aggressively opposed to The Avengers Initiative, calling them vigilantes, and was outspoken in his criticism of Bruce Banner and The Hulk, whom he wished to either capture or kill. The Hulk made his first appearance around the same time that he, Bruce, had disappeared, an appearance that was in close proximity to where he had supposedly been working at the time. A very lose theory began forming in his mind. Bruce scanned websites that speculated about the creation of the green monster. Of one thing he was sure: he had been directly involved. He rubbed his eyes, checked his watch and realised that it was nearly 6am.

Why hadn't they told him that he'd helped create such a beast? To avoid his guilt, perhaps. It seemed like a poor reason. He delved into conspiracy theories about how The Hulk had come to be. He was an alien, he was the result of resurrecting dinosaur DNA, he was the Yeti. He stumbled over one particularly detailed hypothesis about how The Hulk resided in a man's body, only coming out to fight. He nearly disregarded it for being as ludicrous as the others when he hesitated and examined the scientific theory. He stood and paced the room.

Bruce put together the pieces of the puzzle that had slowly been forming around him. The way they treated him, their missing member, the compulsion not to panic, the lie about his heart condition, his exceptional healing skills, all the research he'd done.

He sank to his knees, a green haze sharpening his surroundings as a rushing sound filled his ears and rage threatened to overwhelm him.

A tear trickled down his cheek and he brushed it away, angry at everything, even that.

The Hulk.

He examined what he knew of the Hulk, security footage and speculation about the creature. He found that he didn't want to examine further.

"How?" he whispered to himself.

He supposed he understood why they hadn't told him. It didn't excuse them. He debated allowing the rage that bubbled beneath the surface out, to forget and be lost in the emotion, but crushed the idea before it could grow.

No.

He would show them. He stumbled back to his room and took a long, hot shower, washing away any hint of redness around his eyes.

He waited in the kitchen for the rest of the Avengers to wake up, seated in the corner with a cup of tea and a StarkPad, reading the news. Apparently on a Sunday they all had breakfast together at 8am, or so he'd been told. They arrived in dribs and drabs, joking and laughing with each other. He wondered how he fit into that dynamic, before realising it was probably exactly as he was now, quiet and observing. Steve cooked blueberry pancakes, explaining to Bruce that it was his mother's recipe, as Tony consumed copious amounts of coffee. Sam was playing a game on his phone, eating a banana. Clint was perched on a countertop staring into space and Natasha sliced an apple with a knife that definitely hadn't come from the cutlery drawer.

"So," he said conversationally. "When were you going to tell me that I'm The Hulk?"

The room fell silent, the only sound Steve's pancakes hissing on the hob. Tony choked on his coffee. Natasha raised an eyebrow.

"What makes you think that?" she said.

"Stop lying to me!" Bruce hissed and she flinched. Bruce rubbed his forehead as a memory of a dimly lit hut and Natasha pointing a gun at him danced before his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said. He opened his eyes to find Steve placing himself between Bruce and the other more vulnerable members of the kitchen, and Natasha rolling her eyes at him.

"I'm sorry. I'm not going to lose it. Just, don't lie to me. I'm not a fool, even if I don't remember much."

Tony made a sound that was curiously like a snort. Bruce stared at him before turning back to eye Natasha.

"Uh, I've said that to you before?" he asked her. She stepped around Steve, and prodded him in the direction of the pancakes. He moved back to them reluctantly and Bruce had no doubt he was on high alert. She tilted her head curiously.

"Yes. The first time we met. I was sent to recruit you for S.H.I.E.L.D. It could have gone better. You remembered?"

He nodded. "A flashback, of sorts." He cradled his tea, not wanting to lose his temper again. Tony swaggered over and plonked himself next to Bruce.

"Knew you'd figure it out. I wanted to tell you straight away, but Captain Kill-Joy didn't want to risk an incident." Bruce could see Steve's flush reach his ears.

"Of course Incy-Wincy backed him up and Sam and Clint didn't take a side so I was woefully outvoted."

"Tell me what happened," Bruce said, ignoring Tony's blind and delusional faith in him.

"A lab experiment went wrong and you were exposed to a serum similar to the one used on Cap, one that creates super humans, and combined with excessive amounts of gamma radiation it caused your body to change form. You turn in times of extreme stress or pain." Tony stated it like it wasn't the biggest revelation of his life. The other man hugged him with one arm, albeit awkwardly. They stayed that way for a few minutes while Bruce tried to pull himself together. Steve placed a plate of pancakes before him, and mumbled an apology.

"Will you tell me what actually happened now?" He ate a mouthful of pancakes, realised they were delicious and he was starving and finished the plate. Natasha stepped forward as he ate.

"Can I?" she said. Bruce gazed at her in shock, then thought back to his dream of her.

"Suppose that's only fair," Tony grumbled and Bruce nodded.

They sat on the roof of the tower, feet dangling over the edge, watching as New York bustled below them. Natasha had explained his history, and then their relationship in a quiet emotionless voice. He couldn't quite believe what she was saying, even though every word matched up with his research and the vivid flashbacks. He was essentially a science experiment gone wrong, and she had wanted to run away with him. He suspected the man he had been before hadn't quite believed it either, yet another reason for leaving her, aside from the apparent one. He'd seen the footage of what the Other Guy had done, how dangerous he was. He realised Natasha was speaking again.

"It wasn't love. It never could be. It was… dependence. And understanding. We both live with monsters inside us, and we both have nightmares that we are trying to atone for.

The day you left was the first time we actually kissed. Before that we just been skirting around each other, neither willing to risk what we had for something more frivolous." Her eyes were bright as she met his, and he couldn't look away, her gaze burning into him.

"I'm sorry I made you leave, even if you don't remember it," she said.

"I'm sorry too," he whispered, and she gave him a crooked smile. She stood and brushed a hand over his shoulder.

"I'm glad you're back. Stay around for a while Bruce, we've missed you."

She left him on the roof, with just the hiss of the sliding doors indicating her departure. He flopped back onto the gravel and stared with unseeing eyes at the sky.

He was a scientist who had experimented on himself and created a monster, destroyed Harlem, travelled the world to escape the U.S. Army, fought aliens (aliens!), and had created an evil murderbot in an attempt to save the world.

Not to mention that he been planning to run away with the Black Widow.

Well at least his former self had led an interesting life.

The crunch of gravel underfoot alerted him to Tony's approach. He didn't say anything, just lay next to Bruce and stared at the clouds with him. Tony fidgeted, like he always did, as a minute turned into five, which turned into ten. Tony took a deep breath, presumably to speak, but Bruce beat him to it.

"I remember that you fidget. You're always moving. At first, I thought it was the caffeine, but eventually I realised that you just like to keep busy."

"Oh. Uh, well, I can… I can try not to fidget," Tony stuttered quietly.

"No! No, I mean, what I'm trying to say is that I remember all these tiny details about you, like where we used to go for coffee, and what kind of coffee you like, and where you like to order pizza from. It's nice. To know something about someone. I remember about you more than I do myself, more than anyone else." Bruce was rambling, he knew he was, but it didn't bother him, not around Tony.

"Oh. That's good. Really good. I guess we spent the most time together, in the lab," Tony said, sounding pleased.

"Do you mind, uh, if I stay here for a while?" Bruce asked. He hadn't had the chance to ask the day before. Tony snorted.

"Are you kidding me? Brucie bear, you are my best friend. I would be offended if you left again so soon." Tony rolled over and poked him.

"Oh okay. Thanks." He had a best friend. Tony Stark was his best friend, and he definitely didn't live up to the tabloids, as predicted. That was a very nice feeling.


	5. Chapter 5

**Days Since Incident: 201**

Tony was muttering to himself when Bruce entered the lab. He didn't look up, despite Bruce announcing his presence, although he was unsure if Tony heard it over the clash of his music. He didn't particularly mind. He liked sitting in the lab, watching Tony work, and occasionally going over experiments himself. He hadn't regained all of his knowledge, but he had a natural instinct for it, and sometimes he found himself spouting formulae that he had to examine to understand (again). It was fun, and relaxing.

Tony swore when something sparked, and Bruce smiled to himself. Perhaps relaxing was the wrong word.

"Everything alright?"

Tony's head snapped up, and grinned when he saw Bruce standing there.

"Brucie!"

Bruce grimaced at the nickname but held his offering of a plate forward. "You missed lunch. I brought you a sandwich."

Tony glared at it as if it was an affront to his ability to work for hours on end without being fed or watered.

"I am Iron Man! I have no need of such puny sustenance. Just leave it there," he said, holding up a hand as if there was a repulsor attached, and flexing his muscles. Bruce's eyes flicked to them before focusing on the sandwich.

"Is that so?" he asked, setting the plate down and examining one of the sandwiches. "I guess you don't need these specially made prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella subs with just a hint of homemade pesto aioli," he said, raising it to his mouth. Tony swiped it from his hand, grabbed the plate and hissed at Bruce. He chuckled.

As Tony practically inhaled the food Bruce flicked through what he had been working on. He settled on one schematic.

"Tony, what is this?"

Tony finished the last bite of his sandwich and gulped as he saw what Bruce was looking at.

"Oh, I, um."

He took three breaths to calm himself, as Tony seemed to be struggling to explain.

"Is this a way of tracking my gamma radiation signature?"

"No! Yes! Um!" Tony said. Bruce stared at him.

"Which of those is it?" he asked irritably.

"Okay, yes, it is, but it's not what it looks like. I was going to make it, then give it to F.R.I.D.A.Y. so she could use it to determine if you ever needed help again. She wouldn't tell me where you were, just that you were safe, and seemed okay. I don't want a repeat of these last six months, where you needed us, but didn't even know it. I was going to ask you first, okay, but I thought I'd finish, then ask, you know, ask for forgiveness, not permission?" Tony said in a rush, and Bruce's anger trickled away.

"Oh," he sighed. "Well, Tony, I don't know what I would have said before, but I'd prefer it if you asked first."

Tony nodded, looking suitably abashed.

"You probably would have said the same thing before." Tony agreed with a frown, before swiping at another screen.

"Tony." He looked up. Bruce couldn't help but smile. "Thanks. It's really sweet of you to think of something like that." Tony rolled his eyes, but Bruce could see him smiling as he got back to work.

Bruce settled into a corner seat, and pulled up details of Vision's creation. The more time he spent working on the science, the more came back to him. He hoped it was going to be the same with his memories. They deserved to have their friend back, not this shell of a man who had his face.

A booming alarm cut off his thoughts and a loud voice called the Avengers to assemble. He felt the other guy roar within him, and he moved to follow Tony, who was saving his work and calling the elevator to take them to the quinjet's docking station. They wordlessly entered the elevator and stepped out to see the rest of the team kitting up. He wasn't really sure what he was doing, but he was one of them, and he couldn't exactly sit by and watch.

Steve swung and arm out in front of him when he went to get onto the jet.

"Not today, big guy. Doubt we'll need you," Steve said. Bruce looked to the side.

"But don't you need… him?" he asked. Natasha smiled at him kindly. It was the first time he'd seen her since they'd told him the truth.

"There's a chance he won't remember us, Bruce. That would be a bigger problem than what we're going up against. Besides, it's only some rogue electronics."

He flinched and nodded. Of course. He could be a danger. Why hadn't he thought of that? It was always better to be safe than sorry.

"Flick on the news. We're only going to Boston. Be back in a couple hours Brucie!" Tony said, and the armour wrapped around him and he shot off. Natasha raised a hand in farewell as the door to the quinjet closed. Bruce turned back to the elevator.

He sat and stared at the TV as it showed footage of bots attempting to latch onto anything electronic and leech their energy. He started as the elevator doors opened. Pepper walked through, white as a sheet and threw herself onto the sofa next to him. They'd met (again) earlier in the week.

"Oh Bruce, I'm so glad you're here. I can't bear watching the news alone." She was shaking, and he realised he wasn't in a much better state as he saw Iron Man arrive first to the scene.

He said nothing, but realised he was grateful he was no longer on his own. He hadn't realised how quickly he'd become attached to the members of the team he'd been spending time with. Steve, who was often awake when Bruce woke from his nightmares, and made tea each morning after they met on the roof, respecting his silence. Clint, who had been teaching him how to shoot a bow and arrow, claiming it was something he'd asked about before disappearing, although Bruce couldn't work out if it was an elaborate ruse. Sam, who seemed the only sane one in a mad house, and was full of sensible advice. And Tony, who'd offered him food and shelter only for the pleasure of his company. The Other Guy battled with him to be let out and smash the puny bots, but he clamped down on his emotions. Now he knew what was at the source of his anger it was easier to objectify and manage it. He watched as the rest arrived, and they made short work of the poorly made robots.

Pepper's gasp echoed his own as the camera panned to the sky, watching the remaining robots trap Iron Man and latch themselves onto him. At first it seemed as if he was going to outmanoeuvre them, but then with a flash of light the robots and Iron Man both fell from the sky. Bruce's heart stuttered as he watched him fall. He crashed into a building and disappeared from view.

"The suit is reinforced," he croaked, reassuring himself as well as Pepper. Captain America sprinted across the screen, faster than he'd ever seen any man run, and re-emerged from the wreckage carrying Iron Man. Paramedics rushed toward them, and they were hidden from view by the influx of emergency services.

He suddenly realised Pepper had taken his hand and was gripping it with all her might. Tears trickled down her cheeks and he pulled her close without a thought as she sobbed against him.

"No, no, not again, I can't do this again," she mumbled and Bruce stroked her arm, unsure what to do or say. They stayed like that for minutes, clinging tightly to each other. He ran the simulations through his head, inspected what he knew of the Iron Man armour, but without intimate knowledge he had no idea if that fall had been survivable. It hadn't looked it. He focused on the maths and flattened his anger and distress. Pepper had just calmed her breathing when her phone rang and she scrambled out from his grip to reach it.

"Hello," she said breathlessly. Bruce could just about make out enough of other end of the conversation to hear Tony's voice, and he sagged with relief.

 _"Hi, honey, it's me. I'm okay. I'm sorry if you were watching that, I'm okay."_

"Tony," Pepper sobbed, and he could hear Tony hushing her and promising to be home soon. He slipped from the room and collapsed when he reached his own.

His body wracked with silent sobs as visions of Tony falling flooded his mind. Memories from today, but also memories from another time, another life when he had been there to catch him.

He should have been there today. He was certain that he could have helped, and he could have stopped that fall. He pressed his forehead to the carpet in an attempt to calm himself. Memories of motorbikes, aliens and shawarma fluttered just out of comprehensible reach. He wrapped himself in the covers of his bed, and cried himself to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Days Since Incident: 212**

"Pepper left me," Tony said dully. "She said it was her, or the suits, and she couldn't force me to give up being Iron Man because it would be wrong, so she was leaving."

They were sat on the floor of Tony's workshop. It was well past midnight, and Bruce had brought him food while he was working on repairs to the Iron Man suit, and found Tony drinking whiskey straight from the bottle. Bruce pushed the pizza toward Tony, although he was pretty sure it was a losing battle.

"I'm so sorry," he said. He wasn't sure there was much else to say.

"I. Am. Iron. Man," Tony hissed, and threw a spanner at DUM-E. He missed, because his dominant hand was in a sling, a memento from falling from the sky eleven days earlier.

"Why did I say it? Of course I had to say it. Arrogant sonofabitch."

Bruce was pretty sure Tony was talking to himself. So Bruce sat there, and said nothing, and ate a slice of pizza.

"The thing is, she's right. We're not good together. We rub each other up the wrong way. Like an explosion. It may seem beautiful at first, but in the end all that's left is ash." Tony was incredibly eloquent for someone as drunk as he was.

"I knew this was coming," he mumbled, and took another swig. Bruce debated trying to take the bottle from him, but figured he was drunk enough it wouldn't make a difference, and would likely only aggravate him.

"You'll can't leave me, Bruce."

Bruce smiled and gazed into guileless brown eyes.

"Only if you keep drinking like this," he said dryly.

"Spoilsport," Tony muttered, but set the bottle down and picked up some pizza.

"Bed?" Bruce asked.

"Well, Brucie, that's awfully forward of you, but I think a night of wildly kinky sex is exactly what I need." Tony sniggered and Bruce rolled his eyes.

"Let's get you into bed, and we can continue that discussion tomorrow."

Tony grinned up at him as Bruce tugged on his good arm. He staggered to his feet, leaning heavily on Bruce.

"Bet you're an animal in the sheets," Tony mumbled. Bruce tried not to visualise that as he strong-armed Tony into the elevator.

"Penthouse, please."

"Certainly, Doctor Banner."

Tony collapsed into the bed and Bruce pulled his shoes off, before tucking him into the covers. He placed a glass of water and two painkillers by the bed. He thought he heard Tony mumble his thanks. As he walked to the door, Tony called his name.

"Bruce."

"Yes Tony."

Bright eyes stared up at him.

"Stay tonight? I don't want to be alone. Not in the way you think – I just don't want to be alone."

Bruce hesitated in the doorway. He was pretty certain Tony wasn't trying it on, but he was still wary of himself and the danger he posed. Too many nights he woke breathing heavily, dreaming of horrors he couldn't remember.

"Please."

The plea broke him and he kicked his shoes off and slid on top of the sheets next to Tony.

"Go to sleep now, okay." Tony's snore answered for him, and Bruce closed his eyes and tried to think positive thoughts.

When he opened his eyes Bruce froze, and tried not to panic. Unknown surroundings never boded well. Memories of the night before flooded his mind and he relaxed. Tony was still asleep next to him, and Bruce silently rolled off the bed and collected his shoes. He paused before he left, and wrote Tony a note saying 'drink me' with an arrow pointing toward the water, and 'take me' with an arrow pointing toward the painkillers. He smiled softly at the sleeping billionaire, and closed the door behind him. The elevator took him down to his own room.

He showered and tried not to think about how that had been the best night's sleep he'd ever remembered. When he entered the communal kitchen for breakfast he found Steve cooking blueberry pancakes. Of course. It was a Sunday.

"Hi," he said cautiously, and debated whether he should mention Tony and Pepper's break-up. Before he could, Natasha walked in. He'd seen her more often since the call to assemble, but it had always been slightly awkward. Whatever either of them may have felt before, it had long faded.

"I just spoke with Pepper. She broke up with Tony yesterday, and hasn't heard from him. Anyone seen him? She thinks he's probably drunken himself into a stupor."

Bruce coughed. Well, that was one way to tell them.

"He did. Last night. I put him to bed. I think he'll be okay today," he said. Natasha assessed him, and nodded.

"I'll let Pepper know." She smiled. "Thanks Bruce."

He ducked his head, and Steve placed a plate piled high with pancakes before him, and frowned as he took a seat opposite.

"How did you get him into bed?" Steve asked.

Bruce dug in. "Persuaded him. And half carried him," he said around a mouthful of food.

"Oh," Steve said. He fiddled with his glass. "So he wasn't passed out?"

Bruce looked up. "Should he have been?" he said, raising an eyebrow. Steve rushed to correct himself.

"No! No. Just last time they had an argument, he nearly drank himself to death." Oh. Right. "It's good, that he's coping better."

Bruce nodded a silent agreement.

Clint stumbled in, poured a coffee and folded himself onto the counter top. Steve and Bruce shared a smile. The three of them were normally awake about the same time, and their routine followed a similar pattern. Steve, fresh from his run, and Bruce, slightly less fresh from his bed, chatted over breakfast, while Clint drank two cups of coffee before he uttered a word. Bruce watched him pour the second, hiss as the too hot drink burnt his tongue, and swallowed a mouthful anyway. Sam joined them occasionally, but spent a lot of time back in DC. If Natasha's activities had a pattern or purpose he couldn't tell, but he was certain that was intentional as she liked to keep everyone on their toes. And Tony was a chaotic force of nature, entirely unpredictable, but easy to anticipate.

The peacefulness of the morning was disrupted by a booming voice.

"Friends! I have returned! I believe it is time for great revels!"

Steve grinned. "If anything will cheer Tony up, it's this," he said.

Bruce looked curiously at the source of the voice. Thor was larger in life than he ever could have imagined and bounded over to clap him on the shoulder.

"Bruce. How fare thee? We have missed you dearly." Bruce smiled and patted Thor on the shoulder. He'd heard a lot about him, and no one had failed to mention his massive heart. It was nice to see him ring true.

"Hi. I'm good, but suffering from a few memory problems."

Thor tilted his head to one side in confusion.

"He doesn't remember you," Steve said.

"I am truly saddened to hear that," Thor said.

Bruce snorted. "Me too. Still, I know that we were friends, so it's nice to meet you again."

Thor nodded. "Aye. As always, it is a pleasure to see you. You must elaborate on your story, but first, tell me, where is Tony? Is he well? He is usually first to greet me when I arrive!"

Bruce left Steve to that explanation and headed up to find him. As he entered the penthouse bedroom he was greeted with a groan. The painkillers were gone, and the water had been drunk, so at least Tony was alive and moving.

"How's the hangover?" Bruce asked.

"Gah," Tony said. He rolled away from Bruce, but even the dim light couldn't hide his red rimmed eyes. Bruce felt a surge of protectiveness for his friend, and irrational anger at Pepper, despite seeing first-hand the effect that Tony's alter-ego had on his ex-girlfriend. As his anger faded he knew it was unfair, and settled for helping Tony in whatever manner possible. He refilled the glass of water and placed on the bedside table.

"Thor's here," he said, and Tony just groaned at him. He patted the lump in the sheets approximately where his shoulder should be.

"I'll tell them you're still sleeping." He moved away but Tony's hand snuck out to grab his wrist. Bruce's pulse skyrocketed at the contact.

"Thank you," Tony mumbled before releasing him. Bruce rubbed at his wrist where Tony had touched him, before leaving to re-join the others.


	7. Chapter 7

**Days Since Incident: 241**

Somehow Tony had persuaded Bruce, Clint, Steve and Thor to go out for the night, using a mixture of emotional blackmail and bribery. Natasha had taken one look at Tony's grinning face and announced on no uncertain terms that she wasn't posting bail, or rescuing them if they got kidnapped. Bruce pulled awkwardly on his shirt collar, staring at his reflection. An unknown man stared back at him. Tony had eventually got fed up with his plaid shirts and rumpled trousers and taken him shopping. That had almost been a disaster, but luckily Tony seemed to realise when he was pushing too far and just asked for the remaining clothes to be delivered in his size. He was dressed in a light blue opened neck shirt tucked into dark blue jeans, and had shaved so just a thin layer of stubble ghosted along his jaw line. He looked… respectable. For the first time since he'd woken up, so in his mind, ever.

He checked his watch and realised he was running late. Damn. He grabbed a jacket and took the elevator up to the communal floor. As he stumbled out he took in the sight of the other four men. Tony was good looking whether he was elbows deep in grease or dressed up to the nines, Steve was the epitome of human perfection, Thor was literally a god and even Clint brushed up well. He didn't fit in with these people, these heroes. He paused in the hall, debating turning around and calling it a night. Then Tony caught sight of him, and his jaw dropped.

"Bruce. I knew there was a handsome man beneath the eccentric exterior."

Bruce coughed, caught off guard, and Clint smirked at him, then winked.

They walk to a bar around the corner, Steve having managed to persuade Tony that a strip club wasn't exactly conducive to Bruce staying in his human shape. Even the conversation had set his heart racing, although Clint's cackling in the background hadn't helped. He had just been glad Thor hadn't asked what a strip club was. He wasn't sure how they'd explain that one.

The bartender raised an eyebrow when they walked into the bar but other than that didn't have much to say to them, which they were all grateful for. They all ordered their respective drinks, Thor having spent enough time on planet to translate mead into beer, and Steve tutting when Clint ordered a line of shots. Everyone turned to stare at Bruce when he ordered a glass of Merlot.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked. Tony's mouth gaped open.

"You don't drink," Tony said. Bruce scrunched his eyebrows up.

"I used to have a pint in Fiji… oh you mean, because of, uh, the, uh, the Other Guy?"

Steve shook his head in disbelief, and slid the glass over to Bruce when it arrived.

"If you drank in Fiji, then go ahead, if you still want to," Steve said.

"Huh, this is great, why not, as long as you don't go all big, green and mean on us," Tony snarked, but was grinning. Clint pushed a shot and some salt toward him, and Bruce eyed it distrustfully.

"It's tequila. Tell me you remember how to do a tequila shot." Bruce rolled his eyes, licked the salt from his hand, drank the shot and bit into the lemon. He smirked at their amazed faces.

"I did work in a bar for six months," he said.

"Seeing is believing," Steve said with a snort and the followed suit. He and Thor followed it with a swig from a flask shared between them.

"Asguardian liquor," Thor explained how neither of them could get intoxicated on Earth's alcohol. Bruce sipped at his wine as they told stories to each other. Thor told epic tales of deeds performed years ago, and interlaced them with snippets of pranks Loki had pulled. Steve told war stories of the Howling Commandos, of Peggy Carter. Bucky Barnes was not mentioned but his memory lay heavily in Steve's eyes. Clint told tales of the circus and of his children. Tony told stories of his exploits in Malibu, before any of them had ever known him. Bruce sat quietly and listened, chipping in when a response was required but just enjoying the relaxed companionship.

Tony ordered a round of drinks, and refused to tell them what there were. Clint cried with laughter when five piña coladas were bought to the table, complete with curly straws, slices of fruit and umbrellas. The bartender had themed them, much to Tony's amusement, in the different colours of each of the Avengers present. Bruce discreetly checked his blood alcohol limit. Despite their incredulity at him consuming alcohol he had a working theory that was proving to be true. He would have to consume copious amounts of alcohol for it to have an effect on him, thanks to the experimentation that lead to the existence of the Hulk, so he took his drink with a secret smile at their ever growing amazement.

Thor and Steve not so discreetly topped their drinks up with Thor's flask, and Bruce was glad to see that they'd finished it. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about having to carry a drunk demi-god and super soldier back to the tower, however short the walk.

When Tony decided it was time for karaoke, and Clint agreed, Bruce decided it was time to head home. He took one look at the intoxicated superheroes and called Happy.

"Hello?" The voice at the other end of the line was uncertain.

"Hi, it's Doctor Banner. Tony, Steve, Clint and Thor are about to perform karaoke in a bar, if you don't tell me how to get them home." There was a long pause at the other end of the phone, and then he heard the certain sound of someone trying to stop themselves from laughing.

"I'll come and pick you all up. The usual?"

Bruce rattled off the name of the bar and hastily hung up, just in time to stop Steve bumping his head on a low rafter. Steve grinned sheepishly at him.

"Sometimes I forget that I got taller." He frowned. "I don't want to do karaoke."

Bruce nodded, hiding his smile.

"That's okay. Happy's on his way."

By the time they'd arrived back at the tower Tony and Clint were berating them for being boring, but Steve and Thor had sobered up nicely. Each ushered their respective non-enhanced human to bed, which left Bruce twiddling his thumbs. He lay atop his covers and stared at the ceiling, not quite ready for sleep. Not for the first time he wondered if he was ever going to regain his memories. He wondered if he did whether he'd be angry at himself for drinking, as evidently the risk of intoxication wasn't the reason he didn't drink. He wondered if he'd have stories to add to a night like this, rather being a bystander amongst friends. Most of all he wondered why he left them in the first place.


End file.
